


Lullaby for Grown-Ups

by zjofierose



Series: Sheith Angst Week 2018 [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Depression, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loneliness, M/M, Pre-Slash, Regret, Things left unsaid, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 16:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15867780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: "Go to sleep with closed eyesYour prophecies won't be fulfilled tonightWhen you think of falling skiesRemember there are a million ways to dieDon't be afraid anymoreDon't wear your inside out to keep you warmSo rest your head, it's just as wellYou can't keep the sky from falling anywaySo go to sleep with closed eyesYour prophecies won't be fulfilled tonightWhen you think of falling skiesRemember there are a million ways to die"- Ane Brunor, things Shiro never said to Keith before he left





	Lullaby for Grown-Ups

**Author's Note:**

> a day late, but, my fill for the prompt "Almost" for the Sheith Angst Week 2018. unbeta'd and short. oh well.

There are so many things in a life that almost get said. Things that slither to the tip of the tongue, words that whisper in the darkness between the ribs without ever making the long climb to the mouth, speech that chokes in the throat before vanishing like ash on the wind. Shiro has as many of them as everyone else, he’s not special in that regard. 

He does, he thinks sometimes, have more cause to regret not saying them.

His life has conspired to give him plenty of time to remember each and every one of them, to ruminate on them at length, first in the long months stuck in transit to Kerberos, and then again and at further leisure when he’s captured by the Galra and imprisoned. Some of them he says to the emptiness of space around him, some of them to the walls after a fight, alone and hurting and achingly, desperately tired.

\--

_ “What if we...,” _ he remembers nearly saying after the first time that Keith flung himself over a cliff on his hoverbike and resurfaced transcendent with delight. He’d stopped himself, the words dying trapped behind his teeth as Keith had crowed excitedly and thrown his arms about Shiro’s neck. It was too much of a risk, their friendship too important, Keith’s presence too all-consuming in Shiro’s life for him to be willing to push too far too fast. He’d bitten them back and smiled instead, mustering something about the rewards of discipline and the importance of perseverance. Keith hadn’t noticed the space the words unsaid take up in the air around them, too busy being excited. It was for the best, Shiro knew.

“ _ I think you’re wonderful _ ,” would have been the easiest: Keith wouldn’t have thought twice about those words, not between them, not with the time spent in each others’ pockets, the casual affection, the endless respect that flowed in a closed circuit, connecting them irrevocably to each other. He could have said it at any time, really, but he resisted. He knew his voice would betray him, knew there was no way he could get it out without sounding a little too loving, a little too reverent. 

He’d say it now, if he could, in a heartbeat, so he says it to the wall, spitting out blood to make the words come out right. “Keith,” he says, and the wall makes no response, “I think you’re wonderful.”

\--

He did actually tell Keith that he loved him once before he left, but it was after several beers in a forget-about-Adam drinking event staged by Matt. He’d told Matt he loved him, too, and meant it just as sincerely, though in a very way. Keith had just rolled his eyes, face long-suffering, when Shiro had turned to him, gripped him by the arm, and said, “Keith, listen… I love you.” 

“I know you do, you big ninny,” Keith had answered, and slid him another beer. “I love you, too. Now give me your keys.”

It comforts him a little that he’d said it at all. At least he’d managed that much, even if it was very clear that Keith had taken it as more of an “ _ I love you, man _ ” than a “ _ you’re everything _ .” At least he’d managed to remove any doubt from Keith’s mind, over the years, that Keith was special to him, that Shiro valued their relationship as primary in his life. He won’t die in the fighting ring wondering if Keith knew how much he mattered to Shiro. 

It’s bittersweet, though, because while Shiro trusts that Keith knew he loved him, even knew that Shiro loved him deeply, he almost certainly didn’t know the ways in which Shiro loved him, or all the reasons why. 

If he could do it again, he’d do it differently. He wouldn’t be drunk, for one thing, and they wouldn’t be in a crowd. He’s imagined it a hundred, a thousand different ways: while watching a movie in his room; after sparring alone in the gym; on the roof after dark. His favorite, though, is the one he replays in his mind so often he can feel the heat on his skin, can smell the dusty earth. They’ve gone out on their hoverbikes, deep into the desert. The sun is setting, the evening breeze picking up; the faint rustlings of desert creatures coming out for the night have begun. Keith is standing in front of him in front of a cliff or under a ledge, it doesn’t matter which because the sinking sun paints him in reds and golds. Shiro reaches for him, taking him by the arm and turning him around until they’re face to face. “Keith, listen,” he says, and Keith smiles at him, that soft smile that he only shows to Shiro where his eyes are half-closed and his mouth turns up fully at the corners, making his face open and warm. Shiro would link their fingers together, pulling Keith up close to him, tucking him under his arm and taking a long moment to memorize every feature of this wonderful person who has given him so much. “I love you,” he’d say, and Keith’s eyes would widen, not with surprise, but with joy, dark and full of stars. “ _ I love you, _ ” he’d say again, and he doesn’t even bother to think about what would come next, because at this point it wouldn’t matter, all that would matter in the entire universe is the look on Keith’s face as he hears Shiro say those words to him.

He wakes himself up sometimes shouting it in the dark, “ _ Keith, listen, _ ” his voice harsh and ragged. He never finishes it, can’t bring himself to. There’s no one here to hear it, and no beloved face to respond, and he doesn’t want to waste those words on stones and cracked mortar.

\--

The last, most selfish thing, he’s glad he never said. He wishes he could have, wishes they’d had the relationship that would have allowed for it, but if he’s honest, even if they had… he wouldn’t have said it anyway. It would have been too much to ask. 

He imagines it anyway, too lost and heartbroken to stop himself, imagines pulling Keith aside the night before the launch. He dreams of it, heartsore and bleeding, lying on the cold metal floor of his cell. In his dreams, the stars are out. Venus is low on the horizon and the thin crescent of the waxing moon is just above her, Mars glowing crimson off to the east. The ship that he will pilot into deep space tomorrow towers above them, sleek and impressive, heat radiating off of it from the baked in temperature of the desert sun. 

They’ve been together for years at this point, inevitable as the heat death of the universe and just as steady. They haven’t made promises, because they’re implicit; words are meaningless in the face of what they have. Shiro hates that he’ll be gone, hates that he’s missing a year of Keith’s life, of their life together, but he knows that in the end, it will make no difference. What’s a single year in the face of seventy or more together? 

They don’t need words, but he wants to say them anyway, and so, there, in the gathering dark under the shadow of the ship that will carry him so far away, he pulls Keith to him and holds him close. He puts his mouth close to Keith’s ear, wraps his arms around him, and whispers, “Wait for me?”

It’s the thing he never had the right, let alone the courage, to ask, and he’s glad, he’s  _ glad  _ he never did. It doesn’t help, though; it doesn’t stop him from burying his haggard, scarred face in his hands, and whispering to the direction he thinks might hold Earth. 

_ “Keith. Wait for me.” _

  
  



End file.
